I ponder the dreams they must be having… and all the things I want to say to them. To somehow enter into this moment without disrupting it.
I stroke a cheek.
Kiss a nose.
I lean down and whisper, “You are uniquely made. Beautiful for who you are. You are more precious to me than any earthly thing. You delight my heart. You make each moment worth living over and over. Forgive me for the moments I’ve missed. For my own selfishness. Innocent mistakes. Thank you for loving me so deeply. So freely. May you live and receive every blessing of God. May you choose love, patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control, faithfulness, joy, and peace.”
And on I go.
Sweet affirmations of love whispered into their ears while they sleep.
Dancing their way into the mind of the sleeper… speaking into the visions of their night.
Brightening darkened skies, cries to laughter, equipping the hero of their slumber.
And I smile.
Such truth seeps its way through this realm into another, influencing the deep images of the subconscience with hope, faith, and love… to awaken the dreamer with a new sense of belonging, value, and security.
A dream that has embraced them tenderly.
By the dream whisperer.
Confession: If ever I’ve dreamed a beautiful dream… it’s been because my dad has whispered these sweet-somethings into my ear while I slept.
Words of tenderness, affection, hope, and promise.
Sometimes words of warning.
Often words of encouragement.
Words that blend my reality with eternity.
In a prophetic song of gratitude for what isn’t and great joy for what is.
Ethereal experiences that awaken me to far more than my day-to-day of laundry, dishes, and training children.
The Dream Whisperer.
Stroking my hair, kissing my cheek, singing his father’s heart and hopes into my depths.
Easing my fears, welcoming my fears… replacing them with a father’s protection.
Sometimes he sits beside silently and lets the dreams free as they will be… weaving and winding, tossing and churning, mysteries of the night as the mind unravels its secret thoughts. Its hidden meanderings.
Only to wrap me in his arms when the terror brings me to.
Reminding me that he is always there… even in the ugly. The scary. The awkward.
Waiting to wrap me up.
To remember how desperately I need his comfort. His dream-whispers.
So I ask each night, “Daddy… will you sit with me again as I sleep? Whispering love into my dreams?”
And he smiles and comes. Delighted to be invited.
And his whispers begin.
When you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet.